Greetings, mis peeps.

The web can be a powerful tool. And as with any kind of tool, it can be used for good or for not-so-good things. I’m sure everybody here has some kind of story about somebody “freaky” they met online. And also some stories about some pretty cool people they’ve met there, as well.

Writers use the web quite a bit. Not to suggest you don’t if you’re not. But in the changing world of publishing and promo and networking, writers tend to be online a hell of a lot. And because we all want to believe the best about people, maybe some of us take a little too much for granted when we’re cruising around out there in the ether as “virtual selves.”

This is a tale, dear readers, about love, loss, and life. It’s got a little of everything. And I hope it serves as a warning, reminder, and maybe confirmation about the importance of following your instincts and doing your homework.

So get yourself a cup of coffee or tea or whatever you feel like drinking. Settle in. Put your feet up. And let me walk you through some dark corners of the net. Click the link below. It’s a convoluted tale, a little longish, and not as “blog-like” as some people might like. Not so much “sound-bite” culture as it is “about culture.” Online and offline, I suppose. Anyway. My tale awaits below.

I had a friend. Let’s call her “X.” I met X because she read some of my stories online and claimed she liked them. Which is a flattering thing for writers. So she emailed me to tell me that she enjoyed my stories. And because I am an etiquette fanatic, I emailed her back to thank her for reading and I appreciated that she enjoyed my work. A conversation that could have been held in real life, to be sure. The rules are the same as in real life for online interaction. Or they should be. The difference is, a lot of people out there aren’t entirely honest about how they present themselves on the net because online isn’t face-to-face and it’s a lot harder to ferret out truth. Or maybe there’s something going on with them that isn’t quite right. I don’t know. Regardless, X came across as articulate, funny, and seemingly kind.

We struck up a correspondence because I enjoy meeting people who appreciate writing and editing and publishing. And X came across as someone who does have a background in all of these things. Keep in mind I spent 13 years in publishing so I know a bit about it and I can tell if someone is familiar with the industry or not. I can’t say for certain NOW whether X has that background, but she talked a good talk.

Fast forward a few months. X introduced me to someone I’ll call “Z.” Online. I struck up a correspondence with Z and had a blast. Z was also articulate, funny, bright, and just a lot of fun to write to. Z was older than I by a few years. She seemed to have a lot of life experience and she, too, worked in publishing. Z, however, wasn’t completely healthy. Earlier this year, she was diagnosed with cancer and the last week of her life was filled with a flurry of emails back and forth between me, Z, and X. The cancer took her quickly. She was diagnosed and a few days later, Z was dead. X was devastated. She’d been friends with Z for over 20 years. I, too, was pretty wrung out about it, since we’d been regular correspondents for a bit and I’d spoken with Z once. The cancer–throat/lung–took a lot of her voice, so when she called, she couldn’t really talk all that well, but she tried. Z and I had discussed a visit–about meeting face-to-face, but we both agreed that Z needed to get her surgery and treatment schedule figured out and then I’d make plans to come and visit.

I never got that chance because Z was dead a week after we began discussing meeting face-to-face.

After Z’s death, X and I continued corresponding, sort of a “mutual support society.” In some ways, Z’s death brought X and me closer as friends. Which makes sense. Death can bring people closer or drive them apart, depending on the context. X and I spoke quite a bit on the phone and over Skype as well as online. We decided to meet offline and I was scheduled to fly out to meet her this May. I was looking forward to it, because I liked X. We had fun, laughing and chatting and working on editing and writing projects and reminiscing about funny things Z had said or done.

I enjoyed the correspondence and the conversations. Enjoyed X’s company. Enjoyed getting to know someone who seemed to have some things in common with me. Even in the wake of Z’s death, I liked hanging out (online and over the phone) with X.

But.

But what?

But some things weren’t adding up.

That’s a good word, “but.” It’s the word your instincts throw at your hopes. It’s a primal word, one that waves the red flags and pushes at the back of your mind with warnings. However, we humans are stubborn creatures, and we don’t like to admit that we could be wrong about things or people and we often ignore or avoid the “but.” Or, if you’re like me, you give in to it a little and to appease it, you start doing some research.

And you find some things that give you pause. Still, you raise your opposition “but.” That is, “but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this information is wrong.” Because most of us like to believe the best about people. I liked Z. And I liked X. I didn’t want to believe what I was discovering. That “hope” thing kicking in, I suppose.

But.

More red flags. More warnings in the back of my mind. I did more research. I’m one of those people who files little tidbits of information away. Little details that alone don’t mean much, but when put in context with other little details suddenly present a bigger picture. I’d been filing details since after Z’s death. Maybe even before. I’m not sure when the “but” kicked in. Nor am I sure how long I fought the primal, survival “but” with my opposition “but.” Regardless, finally the last detail clicked into place. Something innocuous triggered it and all the other details I’d been collecting clicked.

Z, dear readers, never existed.

X created her and corresponded with me and probably a few others as Z until Z’s “death.”

X was good at it. She was good at changing her writer’s voice in her correspondence with me. Not quite good enough, but I wanted to believe that X wouldn’t do such a thing. She wouldn’t make someone up, get me to like that person, then kill that person through cancer. So I ignored the warnings. When Z “called” me, though her voice was husky (presumably from the cancer), the primal “but” told me that the voice wasn’t Z’s. I’m not sure it was X, but I have a strong suspicion it was. My opposition “but,” however, wanted to believe it was Z.

I had my moment of clarity last week, when the last tiny detail clicked into place and the whole picture revealed itself. And it left me reeling.

So let’s talk about aftermath. How did it feel to realize I’d been thoroughly deceived? Completely scammed? Lied to for–god, I don’t know how long. I don’t know whether ANYTHING X said was true over the past months. How did it feel for me, a reasonably intelligent, thinking woman, to get so utterly punk’d?

Like absolute shit.

It still does. The betrayal. The time I’d spent getting to know Z and then “losing her” to cancer–dear readers, the absolute cruelty and manipulation involved in doing something like that to another person…I have no words for it. And yeah, I felt humiliated and embarrassed that I, a reasonably intelligent, thinking woman, got screwed. I’m owning that right now. I got suckered. I learned another valuable lesson. And I’m telling my story as both catharsis and warning.

So what of X? I emailed some evidence I’d found to her and I asked her to explain. She didn’t. I lawyered up, too. And yes, my attorney and I conducted a more thorough investigation and uncovered a few more things. All of which made me feel even shittier, if such was possible.

And I’m left with this sense of bewilderment. Why? Why would X do that? How could ANYONE do that? Is she a sociopath? A pathological liar? Devastatingly lonely? Does she suffer from some kind of manifestation of Munchausen’s by Proxy? Is she like the woman who perpetrated THIS scam? Is she perhaps that woman? Does she maybe actually believe that Z was real and that all the people she created in reference to Z are real? Was she really grieving when Z “died”?

I don’t know. I’ll never know.

And what strikes me as even more tragic, perhaps, is that X didn’t have to do that to be my correspondent and build a friendship with me. She didn’t have to make anything up. She didn’t have to pretend to be others. I liked her without that. I liked her humor, the way she expressed herself, and I liked talking with her both online and offline. I enjoyed her company.

But.

I don’t even know for sure who the hell it was I was corresponding with. I’m pretty sure I was talking to a woman.

But.

Maybe I wasn’t.

I don’t know. And that’s a sad, scary thing.

There’s your warning, dear readers. The net offers many opportunities. I’ve met some wonderful people online who have become offline friends and acquaintances. People I would never have met without the net. I’ve met many more of those than X’s.

So let my experience serve as a reminder. Heed the “but.” Do your homework. I’m generally cautious, but I guess I, too, needed a reminder. I’m still confused and hurt and angry. Still, I actually feel sorry for people like X, who do what they do for whatever reasons. I’ll forgive X.

But.

I won’t forget.

Posted on March 30th, 2008 by Andi
Filed under: Freak Shack, Havin' ISSUES!, Life, Therapy Corner